


Balancing Game

by NeverwinterThistle



Series: Equilibrium [2]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Firsts, Genyatta Week 2016, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-05
Updated: 2016-12-05
Packaged: 2018-09-06 16:08:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,873
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8759878
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NeverwinterThistle/pseuds/NeverwinterThistle
Summary: “If I win, I get to keep Pachimari for an extra day.”“High stakes,” Zenyatta says. “I had planned to allow you a victory, but it seems you leave me no choice.”





	

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Genyatta week! Day 1's prompt was "Firsts".

If there is one thing Genji has learned from life, it is this: the night is always darkest just before it turns pitch black.

A month after his return to Overwatch (to caution from old allies, hesitation and reluctance, the undercurrent expectation of violence; they look at Genji and wait for him to lash out, as he always did. He doesn’t, but they expect it. They do not trust him, and so) a mission goes sour.

The first real mission, after a month of reintegration; everything that could go wrong does. Genji misses simple targets, takes damage, overextends himself and abandons his team to compensate for his simple errors. Stumbles on easy dodges. Falls from a wall, to Zenyatta’s horrified, _Genji!_  His synthetics recalibrate, refocus, and he’s back on his feet, but it throws him. It throws the whole team.

One by one, they lose sight of the goal: McCree hunts stragglers from the ground and Fareeha from the sky, trailing an irritable Angela behind her. Young Hana is baited into an ambush, MEKA disabled before they can rescue her. Zenyatta follows in Genji’s wake, dispelling the worst of the wounds he sustains, trying to coax him back to the objective.

And then, of course, Talon’s forces spot the omnic among their aggressors, and open fire. Zenyatta holds fast in a halo of gold; Genji sees red, loses his mind to it, and comes back to himself in a pool of blood, Angela howling for a retreat over the sound of Fareeha crash landing.

 _Disaster_ is putting it mildly; it’s a miracle there aren't any casualties.

No one talks on the flight back to base.

There are customs, left over from the bad old days. Habits people fall into: avoiding eye contact, talking in mutters. Retreating to their separate spaces. Someone will make a report to the rest of their members, and Athena; it won’t be Genji.

He’s ashamed enough that he’s not sure he’d be able to speak, if he wanted to.

Decontamination and cleanup buys him an hour alone inside his mind; he spends it in the past. He remembers. He’s not unfamiliar with failure; his first mission for Overwatch, years ago, ended in the same. Back then, at least, he had the excuse of not knowing his own body. Of feeling like an ill-made doll, tottering on uncoordinated joints. He remembers returning to base and trying to cry in the shower, to reset his mind back to neutral, to at least feel better for a few minutes afterwards.

He can’t actually cry, of course. Tear ducts didn’t quite survive the damage of Hanzo’s dragons, and Angela was a little more preoccupied with making sure he still had eyes afterwards. He doesn’t blame her. But, still, he remembers discovering that even something as quintessentially human as tears was beyond him. Lacking an outlet for misery, he thinks he might have made himself more violent to compensate. Food for thought.

 _Snap out of it_ , he tells himself, and tries to meditate instead.

A while later, Zenyatta finds him seated in full lotus on the floor, back straight, fists clenched on his knees.

“Am I interrupting?”

“No. Come in.”

“How unusual.” Zenyatta slides the door gently closed behind him and settles comfortably opposite Genji. He reaches out to tap his fingertips against Genji’s closed visor. “Is your face cold? It cannot be easy for you to focus on meditation like this; would you like to borrow a scarf? I have a fashionably lurid green specimen that would suit you, if you would like it.”

“I’m not cold.”

“You weren’t at dinner,” Zenyatta observes. “Is something wrong?”

“I doubt I was the only absence. Unless things have changed a lot since I was last here, we tend to retreat to our caves and lick our wounds alone, after a loss.  That is how it always went.”

“Is that so?” Zenyatta says. “I had wondered where everyone was. Nonetheless, I passed a very pleasant hour with Lúcio; he taught me a new game. Jenga, he called it. A marvellous thing. We should incorporate it into our next lesson.”

Genji gives a dry laugh. “You would destroy me.”

“It is possible,” Zenyatta concedes. “I do seem to be rather well suited to this particular game.”

“Cheater. Your fingers can’t shake with nerves.”

“I could simulate the effect, if it would please you. Though I doubt that would hinder me in any way.”

“No,” Genji says. “It wouldn’t. A game based around steady hands and infinite patience; sounds like you’ve found your true calling, Master.”

Zenyatta tilts his head slowly, bird-like. “ _Master_ , is it? I did wonder when you would need me in that capacity. You have not been yourself since we arrived.”

“Maybe that’s the problem,” Genji says, harsher than he means to. “Maybe I _have_ been myself. I find myself falling back into old patterns; my ex-comrades expect me to behave in a certain way, and I oblige them. I don’t mean to. I don’t even want to. It just happens.”

“Not unexpected. You knew the old memories would resurface; no one could possibly expect you to brush them aside immediately.”

“I promised them I was a new man.”

“Are you not?”

“You tell _me,_ ” Genji snaps, and hates himself as soon as he does. Lashing out at Zenyatta with barbed words and tone; he hasn’t done that in years. Worse because he knows Zenyatta won’t fight back. At best, he’ll twist his way out of arguments with wry humour and forgiveness; at worst, remove himself from the room completely. But never fight back. Raging at Zenyatta is like raging at the wind: in the end, his words just fly back into his face and strike him senseless with shame.

He feels a pang inside his ribcage as Zenyatta sighs, stands slowly, and moves to the shelves by Genji’s bed. Runs his fingertips over the possessions there; a couple of photographs, a pink omamori, a chipped shuriken in need of repair. A palm-sized Pachimari soft toy, from Genji’s most recent visit to Hanamura. He’d meant to give it to Zenyatta as a gift. Fell in love with it himself; they have come to a joint custody agreement. In a week, Genji will reluctantly drop it off in Zenyatta’s rooms, as is fair. And Zenyatta will cradle it in reverent palms and solemnly promise to be a vigilant parent, and Genji-

Will laugh, and wonder if it is possible for a mostly-human heart to burst with love.

He bows his head. “I’m sorry I snapped at you. That was uncalled for.”

“Perhaps not entirely,” Zenyatta says, giving the Pachimari a reassuring pat. “I have my own apologies to make.”

“You haven’t done anything.”

“No,” Zenyatta agrees. He turns his head, optics meeting Genji’s visored eyes. “I have pushed you into situations you were not fully prepared for, and then stood back and left you to manage as best as you could, alone. I encouraged you to attempt a reconciliation with your brother, alone. I should have gone with you to Hanamura. I am truly sorry I did not.”

“ _No_ ,” Genji says immediately. The force of his own reaction startles him; he badly wished for Zenyatta’s company when he first set out on that particular mission. Ached at the absence, their first real separation. Wondered if his meeting with Hanzo might have gone better for the extra support.

An impossible dream. Hanzo would have struck first and asked questions later- and forgiveness is a fine idea in theory, but less likely if he knelt at his brother’s feet, cradling his broken omnic.

The thought alone nauseates him.

“It is good that you stayed away,” he says, swallowing hard. “The risk was too great.”

“The meeting was painful for you. I felt your suffering through the Iris; I suffered in turn, knowing I could only hold you in spirit. And since your return, we have not discussed it.”

“I needed time to think.” To meditate on the thousand different ways he could have approached his mission. To wonder if he squandered his last chance. He hasn’t slept well, since his return to the Watchpoint.

“And I have respected your need,” Zenyatta says gently. “But perhaps we can now come to an agreement: solitude is not bringing you peace. As you said, you find yourself slipping into patterns of behaviour that are familiar to you, but unwanted. You have lost a measure of control. Fallout from the meeting with your brother, I suspect. Certainly not something you should have to suffer through alone. Genji. We should talk about this.”

“What is there to say that has not already been said?” Genji rolls his shoulders, stiffness in his joints. Steam curls lazily from the vents in his arms, bringing with it no relief from tension. He wants to blame it on the failed mission. He knows the mission is not to blame; if anything, his poor performance under fire is a direct result of this lack of focus. And he knows the source of the problem. As always, Zenyatta knows best.

“We need not talk, if you would rather not,” Zenyatta says quietly. He’s slow in his approach, kneeling behind Genji, cradling his hips in the V of metal thighs. His hands come to rest on Genji’s shoulders. “If you wish to meditate, I will calm you.” One of his orbs gives a soft, bell-like chime. “Or I can assist you with some of this pain. When did it start?”

“I’m not sure,” Genji lies. “But meditation is beyond me right now. I wouldn’t mind a massage.”

“Consider it done.”

“ _Thank_ you.”

“Do you also wish for silence?”

His first instinct is to agree, but it’s an instinct of habit, not desire. This was how it always went, the last time he was here. The silence after a lost battle; sullenness in his rooms, mission records pored over, blame assigned and delivered in biting tones the next day.

He’s not who he used to be. And he has no secrets from Zenyatta.

“Talk to me?” Genji asks. He rolls his shoulders as Zenyatta’s fingers dig into synthetic skin. “I am tired of silence.”

In the background, Zenyatta’s orbs take up a chorus of gentle chimes, almost hypnotic. “What should we talk about? The weather? It is a mild evening, unseasonably warm, and my sensors predict a ten percent chance of precipitation in the next few hours. Training will be unaffected. Or perhaps instead we could discuss the rather excellent meal you missed; I did not partake of it myself, but Lena assures me that her cooking is generally “awesome”. You would have enjoyed it, I think. Fried foods are a favourite of yours. I requested that they save some of the leftovers for you, in case your appetite returns in the night. What else would you like to talk about?”

Every silvery chime is a shiver under Genji’s skin, balm on his bruises. His physical wounds fade fast; the lingering bitterness clings longer. Gnaws at what’s left of his stomach. “It would be traditional to discuss the mission.”

“There is a meeting in the morning for this express purpose.”

Genji gives a wry laugh. “That never stopped anyone from making their own judgments alone. We have never dealt with losses well. Reinhardt will not rest tonight until he has watched all the recordings five times each. Jesse will take to the firing range and shoot until his wrists ache. Angela will blame herself for every bruise. We all suffer differently, but we suffer. And we should. We shamed ourselves.”

“The newer members seem less concerned.”

“I envy them. They have not accumulated enough failure to feel its weight pressing down on them. They’ll learn differently, in time.”

“You underestimate them,” Zenyatta says. “Ignorance leads you to uninformed conclusions; you know better than that, Genji. If you took the time to truly listen to your new allies, you might find yourself surprised. It is not that they lack understanding of failure. Rather, they remain undefeated in the face of it. The greatest obstacle of all lies in the mind. Defeat is only a matter of perspective.”

“ _What_ perspective?”

“Reality,” Zenyatta says serenely. His orbs drift gracefully outwards, floating on an unseen tide. Encircling them both; one chimes inches away from Genji’s left hand. He doesn’t reach for it. “I walk among you as an outsider, distanced from the history that clings to you all like cobwebs. It’s just possible I see things somewhat more clearly than you, in this case.”

“You barely _walk_ at all,” Genji says, still irritable. “If I didn’t know better, I would think you enjoyed all the attention your abilities earn you. Yes, I know- irrelevant. What were you trying to tell me?” He gives in to the temptation Zenyatta dangles in front of him, reaching out with a fingertip and tapping the closest orb. It sings in response; he taps it again.

“You take your failures so personally, Genji,” Zenyatta says. His tone is the furthest thing from reproachful. Gentle, he presses his thumbs into Genji’s grey shoulders. “You demand miracles of yourself, and then enforce your own punishment when you inevitably fall short. I remember that you were much the same when we first met; I could sense your guilt in the air around you.”

“Looks like I didn’t learn my lesson, then.”

Zenyatta’s hands go still on his shoulders. One drifts to the side of his neck, cradling under his jaw. “Old patterns, as you said. You revert to past behaviours because it is expected of you. It is a much simpler thing to take on an old, familiar shape, than to mould a new one. That in itself would not be an issue, if you were satisfied with your old form- but you are not.”

“I was cruel,” Genji says. “Bitter, ungrateful; I hurt the people who wanted to help me. I hurt my _friends_. That cannot happen again. I cannot be what I was. But it’s so easy.”

“And therein lies the source of your distress: instinct pulls you in one direction, and your heart in another. Reconciling the two will require time, patience, and self-reflection.”

“We don’t have time.”

“We must find it, then.”

“Talon is killing people-“

“Yes,” Zenyatta says quietly. The interruption, the sudden soft steel in his voice, renders Genji mute. “Omnics also; my brother among them. I understand your urgency, Genji. I would ask you not to presume that I am incapable of sharing it. Yes, there has been much death. There will be more; such is the cost of the war we volunteered for. But if I have learned one thing in my travels, it is this: urgency is a false friend, and sometimes even a killer. If we and our allies do not take the time to learn each other, and to attain a balance of mind and skill… We might as well line ourselves up for Talon to dispose of. If we are not an alliance, we are nothing more than a brief irritation. There must be balance.”

Genji bows his head and lets the words settle into his skin, pushed along by the renewed press of Zenyatta’s fingers on his shoulders. When he finds himself reaching for his visor, he lets it happen. Unclips and unclasps and frees what is left of his face with a hiss of oxygen filters shutting off. His scars twinge at first contact with open air; they always do. The phantom ache is gone as soon as it appears.

 _Balance_ , Genji thinks, reaching for one of the revolving golden orbs. It shivers in his palms; he cups his hands around it. Warm, like tea in winter. He can’t actually feel much in the way of temperature anymore, but Zenyatta’s orbs operate on a different level of sensitivity. He can’t remember a time they haven’t warmed him.

 _You are my balance_ , he thinks, turning the orb in his hands. Zenyatta would disagree. Would maintain that Genji balances himself, on a basis of his own mental strength- and Zenyatta would be right, as usual.

But he would also be wrong. The world is never truly _balanced_ unless his mentor, friend and partner is nearby.

“Trust,” Genji says slowly. Behind him, Zenyatta hums a distorted enquiry. “That is where I am lacking. I only began to heal when I opened my heart to you; once there was trust, the healing came naturally.”

“And I am so very proud of you, Genji. For what you achieved, and continue to achieve. I could not possibly be more proud.”

“So you are always telling me,” Genji says. His smile tugs at the scars on his lips.

“No more than you deserve, and nowhere near as often as I would like- but there are not enough hours in the day for that. I would never find time for Winston’s new training regime.”

“You could multitask.”

“And divert my attention away from praising you?” Zenyatta says. “Never. But I fear my fondness drives me to distraction, and you were about to explain your epiphany to me. Forgive the interruption.”

“I’m always happy to be interrupted by praise,” Genji says. “Feel free to keep going.”

“Cheeky.”

“That is an odd way to pronounce _charming_. Maybe your language software is in need of an update.”

“Perhaps your manners are in need of the same.”

“Never.” Genji sighs, and slumps backwards. His back comes into contact with Zenyatta’s chest, the omnic swaying slightly as his internal hydraulics work to rebalance them both. The sensation is not unlike being rocked in a hammock, the hum of hardware in his ears, Zenyatta’s artificial body heat radiating into his spine. “My manners are perfect as they are. Nowhere in the world can you find manners like mine.”

“And I thank the Iris daily for this small mercy.”

“You wound me.”

“Quite the opposite,” Zenyatta says. And he’s right; the aches, the bruises, the internal discomfort are fleeing in the face of his gently chiming orbs. His spindly arms wind themselves around Genji’s torso, hands clasped on Genji’s belly. There is a faint overlap in their silhouettes, the golden whisper of several more arms crossing their way up Genji’s chest like vines. He can’t feel them; he thinks, if he concentrates, he can sense them inside his skin. He makes a soft, happy sound.

“I will go to the meeting tomorrow,” he says. “And I will accept responsibility for my mistakes, and not blame anyone else for theirs. I will be open to compromise. I will be more trusting. And I will…invite them all to train with me more, to learn. What else am I missing?”

“A good start,” Zenyatta says approvingly. “But you know the saying about all work without play. Perhaps you might also take an interest in what your companions enjoy outside of the battlefield. Do you know?”

“Angela spends most of her time in the clinic, and Torbjörn in his workshop. Fareeha is always in the gym.” Genji hesitates, tries to remember. “Reinhardt used to enjoy beer and outdoor picnics…and bird watching. Lena likes romantic comedies and popcorn. McCree prefers card games and hard liquor. He cheats. He always cheats, and we pretend not to notice. Or we used to. I don’t know if he still does.”

“That seems a useful thing to discover, then,” Zenyatta says peacefully. “Make an effort to connect with your companions, and they will do the same for you. As for myself, I have posted a notice in the living room offering group meditation sessions three times a week, for anyone who has an interest. Can I count on your attendance? Imagine the shame, if I were the only one there.”

“I suppose I could stop by for a few minutes, to spare you the embarrassment.”

“On behalf of my fragile pride, I thank you.”

“I could even pretend to be interested. Other people might be fooled enough to join in.”

“You are too kind.”

“I am,” Genji agrees. He leans into Zenyatta, his temple pressed against a solid metal jaw. Given the choice, he thinks he could quite happily stay here forever. They sleep like this, sometimes. Warming each other with artificial heat, swaying gently as Zenyatta’s systems re-establish his center of mass, finding equilibrium, balancing them both.

They could stay here. Maybe they will, later. For now, Genji finds himself in a giving mood.

“Do you think Lúcio is still awake?” he murmurs. “That is why you came to find me, isn’t it? You wanted a third person to play your game with you.”

“Jenga,” Zenyatta corrects him. “The balancing game with the blocks, yes. Though I did warn Lúcio that I might not return. By now he has probably found some other form of entertainment. You would like him, if the two of you spent more time together; he has something of your carefree nature, and also some of your seriousness. His music is quite wonderful.”

“And he plays board games with you.”

“He has been most welcoming since our arrival.”

“I’m glad, “ Genji says, and means it. “I am glad you are not having the same troubles settling in as I am. I do not think I could bear it if you were suffering. But you seem quite peaceful here.”

Zenyatta sighs, voice box stuttering gently. “I will always carry some small part of the Shambali in my soul. But the rest of me belongs to you- and to the world as a whole. I was never well suited to a captive life in a mountain monastery. Do not worry about my happiness, Genji; if you and I are together, there can be no higher form of joy. Unless…”

“Hmm?”

“I only meant to suggest that, if you were to come and play the block game with me, I might transcend to a new plane of contentment.”

“When you beat me, you mean,” Genji says.

“A little humility is as sunlight to the sapling of the soul.”

“I suppose this particular sapling could survive a little bit of sunlight,” Genji concedes. “In _small_ doses. Very well. One or two games, and then I will retire for the night.” He tilts his head, kissing the underside of Zenyatta’s jaw. “Perhaps we could retire together.”

“Nothing would please me more.”

“If I win, I get to keep Pachimari for an extra day.”

“High stakes,” Zenyatta says. “I had planned to allow you a victory, but it seems you leave me no choice.”

Genji lets his head slump back, clicking against Zenyatta’s shoulder. “I am going to suffer for this, aren’t I.”

“You are,” Zenyatta agrees. He unhooks a hand from Genji’s stomach and pats him on the thigh. “Not to worry. Pain is an excellent teacher- and losing is not the end of the world. There will always be a second chance.”

It’s just like him, to turn a game into a meaningful lesson. To take their earlier defeat, change it- or rather, change how Genji perceives it. Not a loss after all. A chance, maybe. A way to prove he’s not who he used to be. A blessing in disguise.

They might still find a way to win this.

**Author's Note:**

> Seems like the only thing I can write for these two is fluff. So here it is: more fluff, with some life lessons and a side of Jenga.


End file.
